


Bittersweet Death

by snowkatze



Category: Carry On - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Alcohol, Drinking, Happy Ending, Insecurities, M/M, a bit of angst, a lot of fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-27
Updated: 2017-06-27
Packaged: 2018-11-19 20:06:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11320752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snowkatze/pseuds/snowkatze
Summary: Simon comes home late one night and lays himself next to Baz in bed. He says things, but Baz is sure he’ll regret it the next day. (After the prompt: 'Are you drunk?')





	Bittersweet Death

_**Baz**_  
  
When I come back from hunting, Simon isn't there, which is unusual. I wonder whether he's followed me again, but I didn't notice anything. (Also, he hasn't followed me for a few months now. I was glad about the break, but I still don't really get why.)

Sometimes, he makes me feel like I'm suffocating. Sometimes, I feel like I'm drowning in a pit of despair. (And it's not just because I'm being dramatic – there are moments when it feels like I'm going to die of the pain, of the longing.)

But tonight, he's not here. (I'm torn between missing him and relief. It's torture being in love with your enemy.)

I lay down and stare at the empty bed beside me. The stars shine brightly tonight and I can hear the wind rustling against the window. I wonder what he's up to at this time of the day. (Probably with Wellbelove.)

Suddenly I hear something crashing against the door and jolt. Is this him? (He's clumsy, but not even he would make this much noise so late at night.)

It must be somebody who lives inside the Mummer's house. I hear some metal clashing together (keys?) and somebody swearing. Maybe it is Simon after all?

Whoever it is, he gets the door open and stumbles in. I can only see his slumped shape, his head hanging low. What's wrong with him?

He slams the door shut behind him and I wonder whether he's angry. (At me? I wouldn't know why, but that says nothing.)

For a moment, he just stand there in the middle of the room. He stares at the ground and I stare at him. Then he lifts his head and his gaze meets mine. The moonlight reflects in his eyes. He makes a step forward and his lips curl into a smile. (Mood swings?)

'Baz,' he whispers, and he sounds high. And then he giggles. (Crowley _. Giggles_.)

I don't know what to think or do when he comes closer. (When did he stop being afraid of me? Did he throw all care in the wind?)

He places himself next to me on the bed and I try to put all the signs together (even though it's hard to form a coherent thought.)

'Are you drunk?' I mumble, trying to put some distance between us. He doesn't seem to care, he crawls under the blanket next to me. I want to yell at him. Maybe push him. Anything to get him away from me. But one look of him suffices – one look out of his dumb puppy eyes – and I give in.

(So many years of restraint and self-control, and this is all it takes to make me give up. Or maybe it's like that saying – when the barrel overflows. Maybe I've just had enough.)

But I feel vulnerable lying here, and he's so close, we're almost touching.

'No,' he mutters and seems sleepy. He yawns. ( _Yawns._ Like a damn kitten. Merlin, what am I doing?) ''m not drunk.'

I want to sneer and make a remark, but I can't bring myself to do it. My heart is beating so fast, I think it might leap out of my chest. Heat is radiating from his body.

His presence is driving me insane. (That's it. I'm going mad. I won't survive this day.)

He'll burn me up right now. (I'm flammable. It will be easy.)

Then my gaze falls to his lips (slightly open) and I want nothing more than to kiss him right now. He smells of alcohol (how much did he have?) but nothing is holding me back except for the little bit of sense for self-preservation I have left. (But I feel like I'm dying tonight and there will be no tomorrow. I know, logically, that's not what's happening right now, but it still feels like it. It feels like it's the end of the world. And Crowley. That's pathetic.)

But he came to me tonight. And he seems to have forgotten everything he thinks about me. I wish I could kiss him right now.

'Hmm Baz,' he mutters and his eyes flutter open. 'You're so, so, so so...'

'Cunning?' I provide helpfully. 'Witty? Sad? Dead?'

'mmm.... pretty,' he giggles. Again. (He is. He's actually trying to kill me.) 'You're so pretty, Baz.'

'You're not thinking straight.'

He giggles again, and I know what he's thinking. (Silly boy.)

Then he blushes and covers his face with his hands, peeking out between his fingers. (It's almost too much. He's the one who's drunk, but suddenly  _ I _ feel euphoric.)

'What?' I whisper.

'I,' he says and hides again behind his fingers. 'I want to kiss you.'

What did he just say? Did he actually say that right now? Am I making things up? (No. Damn it. He's drunk. You can't trust anything he says right now. He doesn't mean it. He'll regret everything when he wakes up.)

But, I'm tempted. (Maybe he won't even remember this tomorrow.) Then again, I'd never take advantage of him.

'You have a girlfriend, remember?' I say, trying to put some sense in him.

'Wrong,' he mumbles. 'A week ago, yes, but not any more.'

'What? Why?'

He laughs again.

''Cause you're so pretty, Baz. You're sooo pretty.'

'D-do you mean... you're gay?'

He smiles sheepishly.

'No. I don't know. Just know that I... mm... want to kiss you. And touch your hair. It's sooo pretty. And I watch you play football. I think of you aaaaall the time. You're everywhere, Baz. I just can't get you out of here,' he says, frowning, and taps against his forehead.  
''cause you think I'm plotting,' I remind him silently. He ignores me.  
'Aaand you play the violin when I'm not here. I secretly listen to it sometimes.'

He covers his face again and glances at me. I can tell that he's smiling. I don't know what I'm thinking. I just want it to stop.

'Want to know a secret?'

'What?' I choke out.

'You're bloody perfect,' he whispers. 'And I wish you weren't my ene -'

And I think I might die if he keeps talking. I just need him to stop, so I press my lips against his and he finally shuts up. (He shuts up, but I'm still dying.)

I don't know how kissing works. I just push him and he pushes back. He buries his hands in my hair.

_I'm kissing Simon Snow. I- No._

He reaches for me, but I pull away. He doesn't want this, damn it. He's out of his mind. He'd never do this if he weren't drunk.

'Go to sleep,' I whisper. 'You won't remember this in the morning.'

And like that, he falls asleep, as if he was listening to me. I listen to him breathing, but there's no way I'm getting any sleep tonight. _I kissed Simon Snow. Damn._

I close my eyes and think about it, the feeling of his lips. I'm going to live the rest of my life knowing that I kissed him. (It's like everything else to do with Simon. It's a blessing and a curse at the same time.)

 

I leave the bed early, doing my best not to wake him. (It would be mortifying if he woke up.)

I hope he doesn't remember anything, I don't want to deal with his rejection. (How would that go? 'Ehmm... but Baz? You _do_ know that I didn't mean it, right? I was just _drunk_.' Because, yes, damn it. I know that.)

I wonder why he got drunk like that in the first place. He was pretty much wasted. I look at him, sleeping in my bed. What will he think when he wakes up in my bed? Well, it's better than him waking up _next_ to me. That would freak him out.  
I'm scared he'll confront me afterwards. (I crossed borders I shouldn't have crossed. There were lines. He'll be mad if he remembers.)

So I leave our room, just to avoid him for as long as possible.

 

_**Simon** _

 

When I wake up, my head hurts. I groan and sit up. I reach right for the bottle of water – and my fingers brush against the wall. What? I look around and realize that I'm on the other side of the room. In Baz bed. And then the memories come rushing in.

I turn bright red. The things I told him, I – I must have made him so uncomfortable. I just went into his bed (without his permission) and practically harassed him. I vaguely remember kissing him and him pushing me off. I gently touch my lips. I kissed him last night. And now he hates me for it. (He hated me before, but it's even worse now. He'll think I'm disgusting – he probably won't even pick a fight with me.)  
I feel tears prickling in my eyes. He's not here any more. I'm alone. It makes sense that he doesn't want to see me, but it still stings. I have to find him. I have to save at least some of it, apologize.

  
I walk around all day, looking for him. (The catacombs, the library, the football pitch, even the wavering wood. But it's hard to find Baz when he doesn't want to be found.)

I end up back in our room, waiting for him. (I'm afraid he won't come back at all. He has to. He lives here, Crowley. But maybe he'd rather sleep in the catacombs than in here, after what I did. I shudder at the thought.)

It's past midnight when I hear the door open. I sit up immediately, but he doesn't even look at me. I want to say something, but he goes straight for the bathroom. I wait, and I wait. (Is he trying to drive me insane? If so, it's working.)

He comes out (changed) and goes to the bed. Still not looking at me. I clear my throat.  
'Baz. I'm, um, I'm sorry.'

He still doesn't react.

'For what I did. Yesterday.'

I think he isn't going to answer, but then he shifts and his voice is cold.

'Forget about it.'

I almost laugh.

'I can pretend like it didn't happen, if that's what you want,' I mumble. 'But I'll never forget about it.'  
'Why not? Did you hate it so much?'

'Hate it?'

'You were drunk, Snow.'

'Yeah, I know, but that's no excuse for kissing you. You clearly didn't want me to, and I still did it, and I'm just – I'm really sorry. Also... I'm sorry for all the things I said, I -'

'I'm not an idiot, Snow. I know you didn't mean any of it. Just – just stop talking, please.'

Oh. This is my chance – to back out, to deny everything, to go back to normal. But somehow, I can't.

'Do you know why I got drunk?'

'I'm not psychic, Snow.'

'I realized something a week ago. Something agonizing and I wanted to forget about it.'  
He stays silent a moment.  
'What?'

'It didn't work. Baz. I... I meant every word.'  
Silence. Again. Guess it's better than shouting. Maybe he'll agree to a truce. Maybe he pities me enough to stop fighting with me. (I don't know whether I want that, really.)

'You're attracted to me?'

He sounds strangled. (But I guess this is the best reaction I could've hoped for.)

'Worse,' I mutter. 'Look, I know this is weird. You hate me, and you don't have to feel guilty about that. You can just pretend you don't know.'

'What do you mean,' he whispers, 'worse?'

I wish I knew what he's thinking.

'I – I mean that I'm in love with you. Crowley, Baz, you have no idea how - '

' _I_ have no idea?'

He sounds angry now. I'm afraid he'll ignore the anathema. (It's understandable.)

'One week. You realized _one fucking week_ ago.'

'You don't know what this feel like, Baz, I -'

'It feels like you're in hell,' he whispers. 'And like it's the only thing... the only thing that's keeping you alive sometimes.'

'How do you know how - '

'Simon, please, come here.'

I'm afraid it's a trick, but I can't resist it. I crawl under the blanket beside him.

'Are you sure you're not drunk again?' he whispers.

'Yes. I'm completely honest.'

'Well, then, I'll be completely honest, too.'

_This is the point where he tells you he hates you. And that he would never feel something for you. Isn't it?_

He runs his fingers through my hair. Why is he doing this to me?  
His head comes closer to mine. Our lips almost touch. I'm having trouble breathing.

'You're killing me,' he whispers. 'That's the truth.'

'I - '

'Every touch,' he kisses me, 'every glance from you,' another kiss, 'every word you say', his lips are soft, 'every second in this room', I can't get enough of it, 'all of you.'

He lets go of me and looks directly into my eyes.  
'I'm dying, that's the truth.'

And he kisses me again, desperate and hard, and passionate, and I know that he means it

His voice fades into a whisper.  
'But I'd choose death any time if it meant that I got all of this,' he pulls me closer, 'and all of you.'

 


End file.
